


Shelter

by zcqb



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9558635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zcqb/pseuds/zcqb
Summary: When Waverly and Wynonna are attacked by the Del Rey Gang, they're taken into protective custody and separated. FBI Agent Nicole Haught with the Witness Security program makes sure that Waverly doesn't get hurt - but she makes it awfully difficult for Nicole to do her job.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really bad at finishing stuff, but I feel like if I latch onto a story that I really like, I'll finish it eventually... right?
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy. :)

It's nearly four in the morning when your phone goes off.

The noise startles you, and you find yourself reaching for your gun before logic overtakes instinct. You wait until your heartbeat settles and your throat isn't choked up and you can breathe again before answering the damn thing.

"Agent Haught? We need you down here," A voice speaks out clear from the other side. You're not even sure who it is. All you know is that they're giving you orders, and they're probably your boss, so you should most definitely just shut up and comply. "It's a major fuck-up, this whole goddamn debacle... just a fucking mess."

"Yes, sir, I'm on my way." You answer. You're already putting your work shirt on when you hang up. No need to ask for any more details; you'll be briefed when you get to the office. Besides, it's not standard FBI procedure to convey classified information over the phone. Not at this stage of your career.

It's taken you seven years to get where you want, but here you are at twenty six years of age working as a protective agent in the witness security program. A celebrated career in the military followed by an honorable discharge after two tours of duty meant that you were set up for a comfortable career in government security. Eventually, you wanted to study a bachelor's degree in medicine, so you were saving up and studying what you could for now. That would come in time.

There was no real reason why you wanted to study medicine, other than the fact that you just enjoyed it. It came to you naturally. If not for your father's military history and your indoctrinated patriotism, you most likely would've become a doctor instead. Your parents would've been proud of you either way. They're good to you like that.

You're adjusting the tie fastened to your neck (clip-on, you learned early on that in this line of work, you don't often have time to get ready) and tightening the lid on the thermos filled with coffee in your hands when you see it.

A notification on your phone.

_Two U.S. nationals taken into protective custody after fatal shootout kills one_

With any luck, that's what you're getting called in for.

\--

You take it back.

Luck is not on your side.

"It's about fucking time my sister and I received some fucking protection," The older one, Wynonna, is yelling very loudly. It's barely five in the morning and you've already decided that this was going to be a bad day. "I send in hundreds of e-mails, complaints, calls, everything - but no, you have to wait until somebody fucking _dies_ to do anything about it!"

You watch your supervisor, a usually very stoic and tight-lipped man, stutter and flounder and sputter until he finally blurts out what seems to be the tenth apology in a minute.

Whoever called you on the phone was right. This was a major fuck-up.

Wynonna is still yelling, with good cause. You'd barely had time to look over the case file, but even then you could've seen this coming from a mile away. Two young girls alone in a small town investigating a crime ring on their own? They were lucky the 'fatal shootout' was at the expense of one the bad guys, and not one of themselves. The backlog of one-sided communication between the Earp sisters and the bureau was almost embarrassing. You're pretty sure someone is going to get fired over this, and you're going to be the one who's going to slap a band-aid on it and fix it up.

As per usual.

"Miss Earp," You finally speak up after having waited your turn, convinced she's worn herself out. She turns her attention to you vaguely, as if she wasn't even aware of your presence before now. "As I see it, you don't want to hear our apologies. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you want to see some action."

"You're damn right," Wynonna spits out, the fire that you'd thought died down suddenly sparking itself up again. You fight the urge to bite back a smile. Despite her faults, you find yourself actually liking the woman. "Are you going to wait for me to tell you how to do your job, or is the bureau actually going to wipe its own ass for once?"

At that, the younger girl visibly stirs, throwing a soft elbow towards her sister. A cautionary nudge. Funny, you think, noticing how she hadn't so much as blinked when her sister was tossing expletives left and right at Nedley.

"I can guarantee you that we will do everything in our power to protect you and your sister," You pause, unsure of how to continue. Wynonna will absolutely protest to what you're about to say, but you say it anyway. "Under two conditions: you're separated, and you leave the case alone."

At this, both of the women visibly recoil, as if you'd just informed them that they'd have to live in caves for the rest of their lives. You shut them down with a step towards them and a hand in the air gesturing for them to wait. To your surprise, they actually stop.

"Let me finish. These conditions are to ensure mutual benefaction for both parties involved in this arrangement," You hate how cold your voice is, how carefully calculated each word sounds. You want to sit them down and tell them that they're safe, that they won't be hurt anymore, that you'll take care of them. But you were given explicit orders, and if there's one thing you can do better than bedside manner, it's following orders. "Separation is necessary. In the unlikely event that the Del Reys find you, they'll only be finding one of you. The other can potentially help us in the, again, _highly_ unlikely event of a kidnapping. I don't think I need to explain to you why you should stay out of the case from now on."

"We've spent the last - God, I don't even know how many years it's been - look, Agent, we've spent a long time investigating these shitheels," The younger sister, Waverly, starts up. She's calmer than her sister, but you recognize that anger. It's in the creative cussing, mostly. "They - they _murdered_ our father in front of us. We were _kids_. We need some kind of justice."

You feel terrible and manipulative. This was your plan all along. Give them two conditions, then let them think they're getting away with one or the other. Looks like they were choosing pursuing the case over being together.

"I understand, Miss Earp," You start, and she interjects with a 'Waverly, please,' and you smile softly before carrying on, swallowing down the knot in your throat. "Waverly. I don't know if my supervisors will agree, but I'm on board with allowing you _some_ involvement in the case. After all, we're kind of lost on where to start without your surely extensive research."

To your left, Nedley is nodding. Waverly is looking at you with a beaming smile and Wynonna just looks pissed.

"What about the separation?" Wynonna urges through clenched teeth and narrowed eyes. "You expect me to go without seeing my sister on a case we're both consulting on?"

"Involved in," You tilt your head to her, somewhat expecting the resistance, but still not sure on how to approach it. Nevertheless, you don't hesitate in your answer. "I believe I've provided ample explanation on why that protective measure is necessary."

"Doesn't mean I have to agree with it," She presses further, and you're already getting ready to negotiate when Waverly's elbow does your job for you. "What?"

"She's already compromised enough," Waverly chides. The knot that previously lodged in your throat has now taken residence in the pit of your stomach. You fight the urge to look anywhere but her eyes. By some miracle (or maybe just years of interrogation training), you remain steadfast. "I went without you for four years. I'm not a little kid anymore. I can do it again."

Wynonna looks as guilty as you feel. You suspect you're not the only one who has a soft spot for Waverly, and that's only developed barely a half hour after meeting her. Wynonna's had more than enough time with Waverly to let that grow.

"I - alright. Fine," Wynonna huffs. You know that's not the end of it. It never is. "But I want weekly - no, biweekly phone calls." Something in you tells you that that's going to evolve into video calls awfully soon.

"That can be arranged," you nod sharply, content in your work. No matter how much you hated doing it, you did a good job. This was the bad part of it, the negotiating, the lying, the fakeness of it all. The manipulation. The good part, the actual saving lives and protecting people, that comes later. "Waverly, I'll be assigned to your protective detail. Wynonna, you'll be introduced to my colleague shortly." This was Nedley's cue to stand up and escort Wynonna out. He wouldn't be on her case. Nedley was mostly here for the logistics of these things, now.

They shuffled out rather quickly, and you open your mouth to assure Waverly that she'd still have time to say goodbye to her sister later, but as soon as the door closes she's up and angry.

"Don't think that I don't know what you're doing," She fumed. You have to admit, you're surprised. Up to this point in your career, you don't think you've encountered such a convincing actress. "You manipulated us into picking a choice. I know your protocol. I only accepted because I know you're right. I hate it, but separation is the best thing for us."

"Waverly, I'm sorry, but -"

"I'm not done," She cuts you off, and you let her. "Whatever minimal involvement you had planned for us, that goes out of the window. I want full, up-to-date, real-time consultancy. Anything less, and we go to the media to tell them _exactly_ how the FBI nearly let us die."

"And die in the process?" You challenge, and she seems ready to fight back, but you straighten your back and gain some height on her. This seems to give her pause. "You're in no room to negotiate. We're not going to let you get hurt. I won't let that happen. But don't think for one minute that what you're threatening will in any way affect the bureau's position here. Whoever didn't do their job has already been fired, whatever evidence you have is already being cleared up and tucked away neatly in evidence boxes that won't be found. I can guarantee you what you've wanted from the beginning: safety and anonymity. I can't give you that if you're signing your own death wish."

You think that's that, that she'd be done fighting and just let you get to the actually good part of your job and make it easier for you. Of course not. You've never met a witness that's been harder to protect.

"You're bluffing." Waverly scoffs, and you can see the doubt flashing in her eyes, the need to believe you, the utter exhaustion in her eyes from fighting all the damn time rising to the surface. You want to lie to her, to take away that pain, so you do. It worries you that you don't even spare a second thought in doing so.

"Waverly, I promise you that I'm not," You plead, and you can practically see the tension drop in her shoulders. Despite the lie, you don't feel guilty. Not when you can see that it did something good for a good person. "Please, let me protect you." Not us, you think. Not the FBI. Me.

"I want to do right by my dad," Waverly laments. "Let us find the peace we deserve, and we'll be the easiest people you'll ever have to protect." You can't help but give in.

"I'll try my hardest to get you what you want, but I really can't promise anything." You affirm, and other than your initial introduction, it's the only fully true statement you've said this whole conversation.

\--

It's one in the afternoon, and you've been running on four hours of sleep and three cups of coffee for too long. Your analysts have been working on a secure safehouse for the Earp sisters, and all you want to do is sleep, but they keep needing you to consult on what would be best. You bite back the urge to tell them to just do their fucking jobs and let you get a bit of well-earned shuteye, instead replacing it with pleasantries and suggestions that really should've been obvious in the first place. No wonder they fucked up as bad as they did.

Normally, you don't swear. You began to notice your heightened propensity to be foul-mouthed after hour four of your exposure to Wynonna. She was crass and overzealous with picking her battles, but she calmed her sister down and even made her laugh in a time like this. You know you're going to let them videochat sooner or later, or they'll drive you crazy.

Agent Dolls was assigned to Wynonna's protective detail. You thought that was a good choice. In the two years of knowing him, you'd never once seen him crack so much as a smile. If anyone could break a man that uptight, it'd be Wynonna, and if anyone could tame a woman that brash, it'd be Dolls.

As for Waverly, you weren't entirely sure where you stood. You knew from the moment you saw her that she could devastate you, and that feeling was confirmed when she dropped her innocent facade quicker than you could even process it. Of the five cases you'd had so far, she was the first you weren't comfortable with protecting. If asked, you wouldn't be able to explain why. It wasn't her ability to lie - you'd dealt with that before in sociopaths and gangsters, things that Waverly very much wasn't - it was something you couldn't pin down, something innate or buried in your subconscious.

You're in the middle of pouring your fourth cup of coffee and debating whether or not you should take off that stupid clip-on tie and unbutton your top button when you're called over by one of the newer analysts. You don't remember her name, but you remember the way she seemed almost in awe of you when you first met her.

"Agent Haught, we think we might have found a good place for you," She starts, and you're trying to think of her name - Megan? Melissa? You thought she was cute, and you were planning on maybe asking her for coffee. That would have to wait now, you think, another side-effect of the Earp calamity. "It's in Washington state, and it fits all of your requirements."

You check out the file - less than ten thousand residents, a predominantly female population, a decently high income per capita, and a good amount of woodlands surrounding the area. Perfect.

"This is good. What about Wynonna?" You ask, mostly because you can't help yourself. You know you'll be told later, anyway, and it's technically out of Melody's (Morgan's?) hands, but you want to know now. You're tired, you've suffered enough today, and you just want to sleep.

"Um, somewhere in Nebraska, I think," She blushes, and you know that she knows she's not allowed to tell you yet. Maybe the coffee would've worked out, after all. "I don't know. I was sort of focusing on your case."

It definitely would've worked out. Shame.

"Good work, agent," You dismiss her, and you miss the way her eyes sparkle because you're already moving on to go brief Waverly on her new digs. Legally, you can't tell her where Wynonna is. You're obligated under oath to protect both sisters, and divulging to one where the other is located is a serious breach of security. You have no doubt they're already aware of that. You know Waverly is wise enough not to disobey the order, you're just not so sure that Wynonna will follow suit.

You're at the door of your office when you catch a glimpse of them laughing and smiling together. They don't notice you yet, and Dolls is too busy working on something else to care. You give them a moment together before you speak up.

"Ladies, it's go time," You tell them, and the sisters (with Dolls in tow) both stand at the ready, though neither wants to leave each other just yet. "Don't worry. You'll have more time to say goodbye at the airport."

You know that no matter what, it won't be enough time, but they nod and smile anyway, following you through the halls of the bureau. Dolls had worked on setting up secure computers and smartphones that they could use in order to communicate. They were retrofitted with the + best anti-snooping programs that the FBI could offer, so there wasn't much to worry about there. Their new identities had been crafted by a team of analysts in the last few hours, and there was nothing else keeping them in D.C.

With that, you get in the passenger side of the nondescript car waiting outside of the building. Dolls drives you to the airport. In the corner of your eye, you can spot Waverly and Wynonna holding hands. It tugs at your heart more than you thought possible.

Stuff like this just doesn't get you anymore. You've seen war crimes being carried out right in front of you. You've witnessed countless I.E.Ds and firefights and atrocities, so much so that you're nearly numb to it.

(You're never fully numb to it.)

It's been two and a half years since you were honorably discharged, and you've barely become accustomed to life back in the States. Nightmares are a common feature of your sleep cycle. You're instantly paranoid of anyone near you, even in broad daylight. You don't maintain social media - you're not sure you have an online presence at all.

You sleep with a gun under your pillow, for Christ's sake.

Somehow though, it works. You go on dates and you have casual sex and you carry on and it just works. You never make friends, not when you're living in a new place every month, and you never really keep anything personal. You figure it out day-to-day, hoping that when you wake up in the morning you'll still have the strength to get out of bed, and you always do because there are always people to save.

The car rolls up to the airport. Before you can say anything, you open the door and head around to the trunk. You pull out the luggage and take it upon yourself to carry Waverly's. After all, it's only fair - she's been up for longer than you have, and you're not the one who has to say goodbye to a family member for what could be years. Waverly looks at you thankfully, and all you can do is smile and give them space, since from here on out they won't be seeing each other. You'll flash a badge and show whoever needs showing a ticket and they'll let you onto a plane without any fuss, and that'll be that.

\--

You're sitting on the plane, and you sense it rather than see it.

Your eyes are closed, but you can tell Waverly is clutching at the armrest, her body tense and uncomfortable. You open an eye and look her over, and she looks just about how you expected; pale, eyes tightly shut, her entire body wound up like a champagne cork about to pop.

"Afraid of flying?" You ask, voice barely registering over the thrum of the engines starting up, but after a moment she nods. She doesn't open her eyes to look at you.

"Yeah, I guess," She replies. Waverly doesn't sound too sure of herself, but you feel like it's your duty to calm her down, even if it's not in your job description.

"My dad was in the air force," You start, and she stills her breathing to peer over at you. "When I was younger, he took me flying a lot. The first time we went, I was so nervous that I threw up."

"You seem fine now," Waverly remarks, and you laugh.

"He sat me down and told me that pilots can fly a plane better than most people could drive a car," There's a joy in your voice, you've noticed, that's reserved only for talking about your parents. "He told me that you're more likely to get in an accident on the car ride over to the airport."

There's a pause, and Waverly's grip loosens slightly on the arm rest.

"You won't blame me if I throw up, though, right?" Waverly jokes (you think), so you laugh. "Since you did, too."

"No, Waverly. I won't."

When you close your eyes, you're half-expecting Waverly to slip her hand into yours like you did so many years ago to ease your own nerves, but it never comes. Getting as much sleep as possible is probably for the best, anyway, since you still have to drive the sixty-odd miles from the airport to White Salmon.

\--

It's four hours later, and Waverly is still awake.

It's still light out, but you were so tired that it didn't matter. Waverly's eyes are red-rimmed and glazed over. She's staring directly in front of her, hands placed neatly in her lap, thumbs twiddling over eachother.

"Waverly?" You ask, and she flinches. You stop yourself from taking her hands in yours and steadying them.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" She asks, and her voice is paper-thin.

"No, no," You assure her, but you're not even sure she heard it. You clear your throat and speak up. "You didn't. You should probably get some sleep, though."

"I'll try," Waverly murmurs, managing a smile. "Thanks. For everything." You nod appreciatively - it's not often that you receive an actual thanks in this line of work. The majority of witnesses you protect are criminals set to testify against their own mob bosses. They're hardly good people, and in the beginning you had at least expected them to _try_ to change after leaving the life of crime. You learned quickly that WitSec isn't a rehabilitation program, it's an excuse for shitty people to live their lives in peace. Your stupid morals can't help but think they deserve that, though, since they're putting worse people behind bars.

Typically, your assignments came in two-month or four-month shifts. Your most recent assignment was six months down in Florida, and after the stifling heat, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to actually see snow again. During your initial briefing, you were notified that as one of the lead agents on the case, your time with Waverly was indefinite. Until Bobo Del Rey was behind bars, there was no way to know for sure if there'd be anyone willing to testify against him other than the Earp sisters.

You feel a dull thud against your shoulder. It startles you initially, but you're glad you didn't jump since Waverly is fast asleep with her head leaning into you. You shift slightly to make it a little more comfortable for her. She's sleeping on the softer part of your collar now rather than your bony shoulder.

Gently, the swell of her breathing rolls into you and soon you find yourself falling asleep, too.

\--

You've pulled up to the cabin. Waverly instantly perks up at the site of your humble abode.

"It's a lot nicer than I thought it'd be," She remarks, and you're grateful that it's still summer, because you can see the way her eyes light up in the Jeep's dim cabin. "No offense."

"None taken," You reply, and you mean it. This place was nicer than the majority of places you'd stayed in, and you weren't sure if it was because of the nature of the case or because Marjory had taken a liking to you or both.

You swear you'll learn her name as soon as possible.

Swinging the car door open, your boot touches gravel and your nose smells pine and instantly you think of home. You kick yourself for not going to visit your parents when you had time off of work, but you were so exhausted after your last case that you just needed some regular downtime. Now, you're not sure when the next chance you'll get to see your parents will come. There are always phone calls, you think.

You haul both suitcases out of the back. Waverly tries to help, but you politely decline her offer. It's barely any work for you, anyway, and she still looks exhausted. The cabin is set in the middle of a clearing about two hundred feet across, surrounded by thick forest all around. The only real landmarks are the gravel driveway and the cabin itself, which is big enough to house both of you comfortably.

The door opens, and you carry in the suitcases before dropping them in the front hallway and turning on the light. Quickly, you enter in the security code to stop the silent alarm from alerting the bureau. The cabin is about how you'd expect, the same kind of generic simple rustic feel to it that seems to come with most cabins, but the windows are narrower and thicker and you have no doubt in your mind that there's a hidden panic room somewhere in the place.

"Waverly," You call out into the kitchen where Waverly is sitting on the counter, eating Cheez-Its straight out of the box. "Some rules, before we head to bed."

"It's seven thirty," Waverly notes.

"Fine, before I head to bed and you... eat," You return. She settles her brightly-colored box down onto the counter and shifts her body to face you. "First things first: you're not a prisoner here. Against our strongest recommendations, you are permitted to leave. Second, after six months, you're required by law to get a job somewhere in town. It doesn't have to be particularly high-brow, just enough to help pay for food and supplies while we house you. Rule number three: when outside of this house, you are to use your new identity at all times - no 'Oh, my real name is Dominique, but my parents called me Waverly anyway,' okay?

"Finally, should a home invasion occur, you need to follow every order I give you the minute I say it. If I say, 'Waverly, get in the panic room,' you get in the panic room. If I say, 'Waverly, get in the car and leave all of your research behind,' you do so without hesitation. Do you understand?"

There's a moment's silence, and Waverly nods.

"Do we really have a panic room?" She asks, and you can't help but laugh.

"Yes, we do. We'll have time for a tour tomorrow. I'm going to unpack my luggage, do a quick search of the perimeter, and then I'll be in my bed," You inform her, and she looks like she wants to say something, but it never comes. "Sleep well, Waverly."

"You too, Agent."

\--

An hour has passed and you're on the phone with your parents, telling them that you probably won't be home for Thanksgiving or even Christmas, and they sound sad but not disappointed or even surprised. You don't think your family has been in the same room together since you moved out.

There's a soft knock on your door, and you quickly say your goodbyes and hang up the phone. You open it, not fully enough for Waverly to come in, but enough for you to see all of her.

"Everything okay?" You ask, and you're pretty sure she's here to ask about how the shower works (because damn if it wasn't overcomplicated), but she surprises you.

"I don't know your name," Waverly starts, and you feel the same guilt from earlier on in the day creeping in again like an old friend. "It kind of bothers me since you're the only person I know, and probably will know for the next however many months, and I'm sorry but I don't want to refer to my only friend as 'Agent' so -"

"Nicole," You rush out, stopping her. "That's my name."

"Nicole," She repeats, as if it wasn't what she was expecting, and that amuses you. "Okay. Thank you. Good night, Nicole."

She turns and walks away without waiting for a response.

That night, you dream the same nightmares that have haunted you since your first tour of duty, but in between there are flashes of brilliant smiles and brown hair and red-rimmed eyes.


End file.
